


patient, patiently

by ranchboiii



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, M/M, One Shot, Shiro is a professor and keith is a grad student, Vampire Shiro (Voltron), dumb flirting, non-binary Pidge, ok so it became a two-shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-17
Updated: 2019-03-08
Packaged: 2019-08-03 11:38:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 12,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16325504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ranchboiii/pseuds/ranchboiii
Summary: Keith has a big crush on his advisor and professor Takashi Shirogane. Then Shiro makes him his TA.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Some housekeeping: the idea of an occult faculty has been a tumblr post since 2010, I take no credit for this juicy concept!! title is, as usual, from ariana grande's indelible wonderful music
> 
> I have been working on this one on and off, so my bad if it's a little all over the place! Just wanted Shiro and Keith to do the succ, you know? Anywho, happy halloween everyone!!!!

Keith is in his last year of pursuing a masters in astrophysics at Garrison University. A renowned school, it’s well known for three things: its ascetic acceptance rate, its world-class physics department, and its predominantly vampiric faculty. 

It’s what they boast on most of their pamphlets and all over the admissions page of the website. Sure, other colleges have an occasional member of an occult species here and there, but they’re usually just in consulting positions. However, Garrison University attaches a certain prestige to its faculty, insisting that their long lifespans and powerful energies make for good teachers, going a step further to exclusively employ educators who fall into the any category of the following: vampire, werewolf, fae, banshee, urban legend, campfire story creation, abject amalgamation, extraterrestrial beings, and other things that one wouldn’t expect to exist but do.

For the most part, however, the Garrison faculty are vampires. Among occult beings, they have the best temperament for teaching and have statistically been alive (more or less) longer than most any of the other beings that roam the campus—the fae exempt of course, but the fae are often too proud to lead classes, on top of their blatant disregard for schedules.

To accommodate the non-conforming habits of its faculty, Garrison University qualifies as a night school. Campus opens officially an hour after sunset and remains open until the dregs of dawn wash in and the select few day-class goers and human instructors make an appearance. Keith isn’t usually awake to see them.

His entry into GU had seemed like the only way to go after getting his bachelor’s in Astronomy. He had been recommended by his advisor at Marmora Tech and, through whatever system of nepotism and favoritism that seemed to permeate academia like a stale miasma, was accepted and quickly assigned an advisor at GU.

The GU advisor system is another unique but less acclaimed feature of the school. Because the student body is so small, students are designated faculty advisors, and Keith’s is none other than the head of the astrophysics department, Professor Takashi Shirogane. 

Where many of the faculty are traditionalists by default, he insisted that the class call him Shiro, that “professor” was too stuffy. Relatively young in comparison to the other staff at a spry 362 years old (though appearing not a day older than twenty-seven) he was malleable to social change and unabashed about his preferences and politics. His classroom walls were plastered with movie posters and science journals alike. He’s the kind of person that Keith wants to spend hours with, in and outside of his Plasma Diagnostics course.

Shiro wears clothes that are a little too small for him and alternates his outerwear between cozy cable-knit cardigans and a stiff letter jacket adorned with physics accolades in lieu of sports, despite a body that suggested opposite. He cracks jokes that are relevant and actually funny. There is a really cool portrait of him in the on-campus museum for his contributions to astrophysics.

And he is so attractive. Keith had not been prepared for that on top of everything else.

At Keith’s undergrad there had been a local vampire faculty or two and of course they had both been beautiful. But there was something completely unique about Shiro’s beauty that hit Keith like an unstoppable freight train across an icy tundra. 

During their first one-on-one together, Shiro had been cordial and excited to meet Keith and it was pure salt to the open wound. Keith was ruined for crushes. This was it.

The worst part is that Keith found himself struggling with the fact that it’s inappropriate for students and faculty to engage in any kind of intimate relationship with each other. For safety reasons as well as historical precedent, it was simply not done. 

He would never tell anyone, but if given the chance, Keith would let Shiro absolutely ravish him in every way physically possible.

*

Keith is a full-time student and without a car, so he takes up odd jobs around campus to make extra money. While his scholarships and grants cover tuition, his apartment, and a meal plan, Keith has his eye on a motorcycle that his friends have been cooking up on his behalf in the engineering department. If they can get it street-legal, the insurance will be through the roof. Keith needs it.

So he splits his time between custodial work, summer fellowships, and working the library front desk. It’s on a Thursday night in second semester when Shiro waltzes into the library with a swarm of overachieving undergraduate sophomores enrolled in his Astro 310 class. 

“This is where you will be conducting your research projects. I want you to choose groups of no more than four, split the work, and bring something great to the table by the end of the semester. If you need any help, the library staff are wonderful and can assist you in more ways than you’d expect. Take Keith at the front desk, for example.” When Shiro calls his name, Keith’s heart flutters and he sits up a little straighter. He doesn’t know how he’d deluded himself into thinking that Shiro hadn’t noticed him, considering the whole enhanced hearing and sight thing.

“Keith here is on the MA astrophysics course and while he got his undergrad at Marmora, he was a astronomy major like yourselves.” The class looks at Keith like he’s their future and he buckles under their gaze. “Keith is my ideal student, so try to be like him, okay?”

Keith thinks his heart may stop. 

Shiro dismisses the class so they can establish groups and brainstorm their projects, waltzing over and leaning on to the part of the front desk where Keith is seated. “Sorry to make an example out of you,” he says with a smile sweet enough to end wars.

“I’m probably not the best example,” Keith shrugs, wishing Shiro’s revolutionary smile and kind words would stop giving him hope. Shiro’s mouth twists down at his self-deprecating comment.

“Keith,” he says, his voice gentle. “I mean it.” Shiro holds Keith’s steady gaze, unblinking in his pursuit to make his point; Keith forgets that vampires don’t have to do that. Keith stares back and stands his ground. _Please Shiro_ , he thinks. _Don’t lead me on_.

“You really don’t believe me, do you?” Shiro marvels, and Keith is sure that he had been listening to his heartbeat, which is largely inappropriate between strangers or acquaintances, meant for those with a more profound relationship—a sentiment that only stirs up more turmoil in his chest. “Fine. Where’s your supervisor?”

“My supervisor?” Keith asks, waving to get the attention of Rizavi in the back. She’s the senior staffer on duty but Keith is pretty sure he’s older than her.

“What’s up?” Rizavi asks, joining them. She greets Shiro cordially.

“Rizavi,” Shiro says, his eyes flashing at her name tag. “Would you be terribly inconvenienced if Keith happened to quit his job here?”

“ _What?_ ” Keith hisses, bolting up out of his chair. Rizavi looks nonplussed, shrugs, and proceeds to throw Keith under the proverbial bus.

“We’d probably be fine. Is everything okay?” She asks Keith. Shiro answers for him.

“It’s just that he’s going to be my TA this semester, and school employment rules are that he can’t surpass a certain amount of hours, so…” 

This is an offer. Shiro’s posture is relaxed, genuine, and Keith knows he should refuse purely on the basis that his crush is one-sided, unrequited and never to be fulfilled. But he searches inside and can’t find a reason to turn down this golden ticket to spend more time with Shiro and maybe get some extra homework help.

“Right,” Keith exhales, ultimately deciding to play along. What could go wrong? “When do I start again, Shiro?”

“When is your shift over?”

Keith checks his watch. “I still have two more hours.”

“The office will be closed by then. Rizavi, do you mind?” Shiro asks, innocently adjusting the shoulder strap of his bag over his shoulder.

“Right now? I mean, I guess, sure,” she shrugs again. Keith had no idea she was so impartial to his employment and feels a little disappointed. “Bye Keith. You were the best at organizing the records and tapes section.”

“Thanks,” Keith intones. “Sorry for leaving so abruptly, I should’ve given you more notice.” He stresses the second part a little more and looks pointedly at Shiro when he says it.

“No worries!” Rizavi smiles, failing to read the room. Keith packs up his stuff and joins Shiro on the other side of the desk.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure you’re compensated for the two hours. Let’s go.” Shiro takes Keith by the forearm and practically drags him to the student employment office, renegotiating contracts with the ever-patient human staff. They seem to be unsurprised by the situation; Keith doesn’t usually put much thought to how impulsive the faculty can be when they’ve been alive for centuries.

“Is this okay?” Shiro asks, _after_ they’ve signed all the paperwork and Keith is following him back to his office.

“I mean, it has to be now,” Keith says. “We gave our electronic signatures and everything. Bound and all that.” 

Shiro realizes his mistake and deflates a little, pausing as he unlocks the door to his office. “Sorry, I. Should have talked to you about it before, but I really do want you to be my TA. You really are an incredible student, Keith, and I want that energy near me, you know? You should be put to work doing something that challenges you.”

“You underestimate the Dewey Decimal System,” Keith bites his lip, trying to ignore Shiro’s barrage of praise.

“As if numbers in any form could slow you down,” Shiro raises an eyebrow. They enter his office, which is austere, pristine, organized. The only items that aren’t clearly efficiency furniture are two ceiling-to-floor empire style bookcases that house tomes spanning several genres and eras, as well as a dingy but classic-looking kerosene lamp. Shiro clears off the chair with his coat on it so Keith can sit down.

He sits while Shiro prepares him a cup of tea, discussing the job description which is largely grading tests and helping tutor students after lectures. Beyond that, Shiro offers him to assist with his own personal research outside of class time.

“If it ever gets to be too much,” Shiro starts. “Let me know. I don’t ever want you to feel overwhelmed, alright? Which is already tough, considering you’re a graduate student. But your health comes first.”

“Understood,” Keith nods. “And thank you,” he adds. At the office, he’d learned that TA positions have a remarkably higher pay standard than library front desk helper. If he was afraid of being overworked, he felt much better about it know and was considering dropping the custodial work he sometimes does. It’ll keep him covered for the time being.

Shiro places a hand on Keith’s shoulder and gives him a look that’s meaningful but utterly indecipherable.

“Do you have any questions?” Shiro asks, finally, leaning back in his seat. In this low-light, Keith can see the depth of his eyes, dark and glassy like he can see past Keith or inside him. The weight of his hand on Keith’s shoulder is intoxicating and Keith can swear he feels Shiro’s thumb tracing the edge of his collarbone.

“N-no,” Keith coughs, thinking about those eyes on him, all over him. “Just, let me know if you need anything else.”

“Will do. Thank you, Keith. Go ahead and take the rest of the night off,” Shiro offers.

Keith wishes him a good night and almost runs out of the building to try and get some fresh air and figure out if this is a dream or if he’s been glamoured by passing fae. But all signs point to reality being stranger than fiction.

*

Keith spends a lot of time wondering if he should update his friends or not about his new job. He weighs the inevitability that they’ll find out eventually anyway against the fact that he’s TA-ing for Shiro in particular. While he wants to keep that part a secret, he knows that he’ll be in deeper trouble if he doesn’t say anything at all. Either way, he decides that the group chat will suffice as a platform for his demise.

 **Keith** : don’t look for me at the library anymore  
**Lance** : finally escaping academia to live a solitary life in the rainforest eh? good on u keith. leave me your creuset thnx  
**Pidge** : Joking aside, what does this mean, Keith?  
**Hunk** : please…. Please tell me you didn’t get fired  
**Lance** : ok wait u can keep the creuset i actually want your bike! Is that chill?

Keith decides that the fastest and most efficient way to communicate won’t be through text. Glancing at the clocktower, backlit in red, orange, and yellow for the fall season, he decides that ten forty-five p.m. isn’t too early for lunch.

 **Keith** : meet at bagel  
✓ Read by all

There’s a bagel place on campus that everybody tries to hate in the name of rampant, pervasive capitalism, but the truth is that people like bagels. A perpetually busy establishment, Keith strikes gold when he snags an open table, which he interprets as the universe aligning for his imminent take-down.

Keith’s suspicion is confirmed when Lance shows up first.

“Well, well, well,” Lance starts. “So the great Keith has finally elected to relinquish his earthly goods to the all-deserving Lance. Thank you, Keith. Also I’ve decided that asking for both the creuset and the bike isn’t too much, so I’ll be taking both. Thank you for your generous contribution.”

“I’m not giving you my stuff, Lance,” Keith rolls his eyes. “Nice try though.”

“I’m dying to know how you got fired.”

“I didn’t get fired _Lance_.”

“You two really can’t be left alone for five minutes, can you?” Pidge and Hunk arrive together, dragging Lance into line to order.

Joined together at the table, Pidge gets the ball rolling.

“Ok buddy,” they say. “I wanna hear the whole story. And I also want to place my bet for you winning the lottery.” 

“Do you mean that literally? Because not quite,” Keith says, which has their interest piqued even more. 

“My guess is a new job!” Hunk cuts in before Keith can continue. 

“Hunk’s guess is correct,” Keith nods. “But there is a small issue. I’m Shiro’s new TA.”

The whole table threatens to erupt with unbridled glee, overly enthusiastic high-fiving, and absolutely ruthless teasing but Keith brings his knee up to shake the table from below and diffuse the rising tension.

“Don’t make a scene,” he begs, face growing hot.

“Dude, this is like your wildest fantasy come true,” Lance grins. “How are you not freaking out?!” 

“Oh, he’s freaking out,” Pidge notes, pointing to the scarlet glow of Keith’s ears. “He’s got it bad.”

“ _Help_ ,” Keith wheezes, afraid his voice will crack if he speaks any louder. He tells them the whole story of the previous night, voice low and avoiding the heightened senses of the nearby staff and student body. He hopes the general chatter of the bagel place will mask their conversation.

“So let me get this straight,” Pidge begins. “Shiro came to the library, praised you in front of his students, stole you from your job _while_ you working, all so he could have you to himself?”

“You’ve embellished some things,” Keith says, ultimately nodding in agreement.

Lance interjects. “Go get it, Keith! I bet Shiro’s looking for a slice of something nice.”

“Please don’t refer to me as ‘a slice,’” Keith pleads. 

“Keith,” Hunk says. “Be careful.” The group looks at Hunk expectantly, the mood growing suddenly heavy. “It’s just, I hate to play this role but, he’s a vampire, it’s dangerous. Especially if he wants… you know.”

“Drop the ‘know,’” Lance snorts, lowering his voice and raising his eyebrows. “Cause he wants _you_.”

“Lance,” Keith says warningly.

“ _A slice_.”

Keith is about to let Lance have it when Pidge puts their hand on his shoulder and Hunk pulls Lance into an exasperated half nelson. 

“Keep us posted,” Pidge says, biting into their bagel. “Let us know if you need anything, okay?” 

Keith nods and steals a bite of Lance’s bagel while Hunk still has a firm hold on his head and neck, chewing the spongy bread slowly and considering his anxiety. His crush is a known fact to his friends and at this point he wouldn’t put it past Shiro to know it too. It’s a matter of whether or not Shiro wants to take advantage of him or not because of it.

Either way, Keith still recognizes that he would, still, unequivocally give himself over to Shiro. It’s with this weak thought that he starts his first night as a TA, and probably exactly why the night goes over the way it does: terribly.

*

It all starts and ends when Keith shows up to Shiro’s office hours. 

He’s supposed to be in attendance for Shiro’s Astro 310 class, but Shiro had offered for Keith to join him prior to classes to assist with research or ask questions. As a gesture of good faith, Keith goes to pick up a tea latte for Shiro. He’d seen some other TAs do this before but he never knew if it was because the faculty required it or if they too were trying to get in the faculty’s pants. Keith isn’t going to lie to himself anymore; he very much understands that is he part of the latter group in that scenario.

But when he gets to Shiro’s office, tea latte in hand, Shiro is not there.

Shiro has never been late to class, and while Keith isn’t keeping a record anywhere, he’s fairly certain that his punctuality extends to office hours as well.

The hall is eerily quiet; the other staff offices are dark and seem void of all life or unlife. Swaying back and forth on his feet for a moment, Keith considers what he should do. He elects to set down his bag and the tea latte and check outside: nothing but crickets and the psychology majors headed for the library. Slipping back indoors, Keith puts his hands in his pockets and checks the clock on the wall again to make sure he isn’t the one who’s too early.

Then he hears it: a faint, low droning. Instinctively, his hands fly up toward his chest in a defensive position. Was it coming from the interior stairwell? 

Keith edges closer and the noise gets louder, takes the shape of a pained groan. In a moment of bravery, Keith throws the interior stairwell door open and the noise becomes even fuller, punctuated by a small and strained “ _Help_.”

Keith knows that voice, but he has never known it like this. “Shiro?” He asks, horrified. Taking the stairs down three at a time, he finds Shiro two flights down, heaving himself upward, paler than a sheet, his eyes sunken and ringed by dark bags. His eyes are a worrying color, bleached pale gray instead of the deep black Keith was used to seeing. Worst of all was the dark, spreading stain that soaked Shiro’s shirt.

“Shiro, what’s wrong?” Keith asks, trying to school the desperation in his voice. Despite his instincts telling him not to approach, Keith pulls Shiro’s arm over his shoulder and decides to carry him to his office so he can call the health center from there. Shiro doesn’t respond immediately and Keith wonders if he should just leave this to the professionals after all.

“I’m so dumb,” is the first thing Shiro can say, which makes Keith laugh.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” Keith quips. “What happened?”

“There were some students,” Shiro wheezes as Keith hauls him up the stairs, quickly approaching the floor Shiro’s office is on. “Messing around with organic flash bombs in the parking lot. One went off and I was blinded,” he coughs, clutching at his stomach where the dark stain lingered. “And then I tripped and landed on one of the stakes lining the marigold beds.”

“Oh my god,” Keith chokes, nearly dropping Shiro when his knees buckle in disbelief. “How do they still have wooden stakes in the garden! That’s so ignorant,” Keith sputters, setting Shiro down in his office chair.

“We’ve been asking the groundskeepers to take them out for years,” Shiro shrugs, closing his eyes and going quiet. “Thank you for finding me. I thought I could make it here on my own.” 

Keith pulls out his phone. “I’m calling the health center, they’ll send someone over immediately,” he says, searching for the phone directory.

“No,” Shiro stops him. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it. Plus, I should have stuff here,” he assures him, _stuff_ meaning spare blood. Sure enough, there is a little fridge behind Shiro’s desk, but when he opens it his face falls. “Oh,” he exhales, shoulders sagging even lower than they already are. “Guess I don’t.”

“I’m calling,” Keith repeats, scrolling his phone again.

“But my office hours,” Shiro whines. Keith tries not to make light of Shiro’s dedication because for one it’s endearing, and two, Keith can’t say anything against one-track minded devotion. Which is exactly why he does what he does next.

“Alright then,” Keith says, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sleeve. He offers his wrist to Shiro. “Here.”

“Keith,” Shiro says, warningly. “We can’t.”

“I know,” Keith counters, pressing his luck. “But you don’t want me to call and you don’t want to leave, so. Let’s not make a big deal out of it?” Keith thinks borrowing Shiro’s words will be what unravels this whole fantasy like a loose stitch in a scarf. But Shiro looks terrible, like he’s going to keel over any second, so it’s a worthy risk.

Shiro spends what feels like a whole minute thinking very loudly. Then, still blinded, he fumbles around for the extra chair in front of him, pulling it close and instructing Keith to sit down. Keith’s heart starts to race and he ties his hair back to help reduce the heat that’s burning across his face.

“Listen to me,” Shiro says, voice low. He grabs a cotton pad and antiseptic serum from the first aid kit in his desk and begins to sanitize a large area on Keith’s wrist. “No one can know about this. Don’t tell your friends and _please_ don’t tell the dean,” Shiro pleads, ultimately pausing his ministrations to lean his head onto Keith’s shoulder—which is the greatest thing that’s ever happened to Keith—in defeat. “Keith, we can’t.”

“We can,” Keith insists, his mouth dry. “You’re about to pass out, come on. I want this,” Keith promises, which might not be the most appropriate thing to say in this situation. “I want you to be safe,” he adds, another true statement. “No one else can teach Plasma Diagnostics like you can.”

Shiro sits up straight and steels himself. Keith can’t look at the dark bruising around his eyes much longer and is about to beg Shiro to hurry when he purposefully brings Keith’s wrist to his mouth.

“Thank you, Keith,” is the last thing he says before wrapping his lips around Keith’s warm, tan flesh and sinking his fangs in deep.

The initial piercing is uncomfortable, like the needlestick of a shot or vaccine. But quickly an unfamiliar sensation rips through Keith as he can feel his blood rush toward Shiro’s hot mouth like a vacuum, and for whatever insane reasons, it feels _good_. It feels better than any kiss, better than all the friction and foreplay in the world. It’s like molten honey has replaced his muscles, everything relaxed and hot, or like he’s traveling at five hundred kilometers an hour but all he can feel is a light breeze.

He can feel Shiro’s tongue twitch against his skin, can feel the cool curve and hard press of Shiro’s lips. Keith had no idea his wrists were so sensitive, but Shiro’s heady presence is making him believe that he might not know anything about himself or pleasure at all.

And as quickly as it starts, it’s over. Keith finds himself in a daze, languidly leaning against the back of the chair in disbelief as he watches Shiro lick clean his puncture marks in thorough swirls, adding an extension to his ecstasy. The feeling wanes as Shiro wipes his wrist clean and begins to apply a bandage.

“Is that all?” Keith asks when Shiro gives him his arm back, words slurred.

“I probably took too much,” Shiro frets, his eyes back to their normal color. “How are you feeling?” While Keith looks Shiro up and down, he remembers the stain on his shirt and leans forward. In his sated state, he’s bold enough to pull Shiro’s shirt up to check the wound, but all he sees is the smooth, taut skin of Shiro’s six-pack. Great, he didn’t need to know that. 

“Take more,” Keith offers, light-headed. “If you need. How are you feeling?”

“A hundred and ten percent better. Was that the first time you’ve ever been fed on?” Although Shiro looks somewhere between regretful and relieved, Keith thinks he has never seen him glow this way before and wonders if it must be a post-feeding thing. He wouldn’t be against seeing it again.

“Yes,” Keith answers truthfully, wishing he had a little more energy to be sarcastic and make a joke, but he’s at a loss for anything currently more complicated than breathing and blinking. “Is it always like that?” He dares to ask.

“Like what?” Shiro asks, playing dumb. Keith’s face goes scarlet with the insinuation he’ll have to explain how he’ll never successfully climax ever again knowing that it feels better to get your blood sucked than your dick.

“Shiro,” Keith pleads. 

Shiro excuses himself to change out of his ruined shirt, leaving Keith with a glass of water that he demands he drinks before he gets back. Keith gets a quarter of the way through when Shiro comes back, fresh, clean, and holding Keith’s bag and the tea latte.

“Here’s your stuff,” he says, setting them down on the table between his desk and Keith.

“The latte’s for you,” Keith responds weakly. “Hope you like darjeeling.”

Shiro laughs and checks the cup, noting the _Prof TS_ written in curvy sharpie. He shakes his head, his eyes impossibly fond.

“Thank you, Keith,” he says and Keith can feel the weight of his words. “I owe you big time.”

“Nah,” Keith sighs. “That was just me repaying you for getting me better job. And some cool new life experiences. So. Thank you.”

They share a cordial smile, holding each other’s stares for longer than necessary. Keith feels his body grow weak and eyes grow heavy.

“Is it normal to get so sleepy?” Keith asks, trying to adjust to a more comfortable position in the chair.

“Completely,” Shiro assures him. “I should get you home.”

“Just give me five minutes,” Keith requests.

Shiro acquiesces, in the meantime tidying up the room and taking a seat at his desk, Keith all the while listening to the ruffling and swishing sounds of silent work. Drawers open, blinds flutter, pens scratch against paper. It’s purely relaxing and makes it all too easy for him to fall prey to sleep.

When he wakes, which feels like blinking instead of sleeping, it’s to Shiro’s voice quietly stirring him. “Keith, it’s just about time for class. Are you okay to go? It’s totally alright if you want to skip today.”

Keith sits up and a layer of warmth falls away from his chest, leaving him cold. He looks down to see that it’s Shiro’s letter jacket, heavy and cozy. A shiver shakes him.

“I’m good,” he says, and he does feel improved after resting his eyes. Lightly, he adds, “Sorry I fell asleep on my first day on the job. I promise I have a have a decent work ethic.”

“I have no illusions about that,” Shiro grins and Keith gives him a grateful look. Carefully, Keith folds Shiro’s jacket over the chair and shrugs into his own coat, still quivering. Rising to his feet, the blood rushes from his head and he nearly falls over until Shiro catches him.

“Whoa there,” Shiro chides. “Are you alright?” 

“Just a little cold,” Keith says honestly, afraid to move away from Shiro’s sturdy chest and lose his steady support.

“My letterman’s jacket might be a little too loud,” Shiro reasons, reaching for the coat rack over his door and grabbing a cozy and soft looking sweater that doesn’t clash with Keith’s current outfit too much. “But how about you borrow a cardigan?”

“Thanks,” Keith says quietly, accepting the sweater. He steps back, feeling confident enough to stand on his own but still vaguely worried that all of this is a dream. Shiro’s attentiveness is intoxicating, and Keith wants to stay high on it. 

Shiro takes a sip of the tea latte and nods approvingly, exhaling in what Keith can only describe as willing defeat.

“Can I,” Shiro starts, chewing his lip like he’s weighing what he’s about to say, and they’re words that Keith never would have expected out of him, even in his wildest fantasies. “Walk you to class?”

His eyes catch Keith’s and they share laughter in the absurdity of the all. Slipping into the cardigan, Keith throws his bag over his shoulder and picks up a stack of essays that Shiro wanted him to grade.

“I’d like that,” he says. And, together, they go.

*


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey there ! i definitely thought i'd leave this fic as a one-shot, but i couldn't help but revisit the world and give a pining keith and shiro a little more face time. for those asking about neck stuff... i hope you like !

There was a sort of uproar among the astro majors that followed that first class period when Keith and Shiro walked in together, Keith wearing Shiro’s cardigan at looking like he’d just woken up or had been thoroughly ravished or both. The whole situation probably would have gone unnoticed if not for the sleeves being so long on Keith’s arms that he had to fold them up. Or rather, Shiro had to fold them up for him and all the while did it with a big, doofy smile on his face. Were they together? Did Shiro specifically hire Keith as his TA because they were in a relationship?

But the rumors sizzled out fairly quickly as Shiro and Keith made adjustments to the way they behaved around each other in public settings. Even as folks became distracted with other news surrounding the upcoming blood moon and search for a new university president, something special began to brew between them during their class prep sessions and private moments alike. 

Although a bit wild during his younger days, Keith always thought of himself as cautious in uncharted territory. He looks before he jumps. He tries not to cross lines or break taboos. And seeing as Shiro is a professor, vampire, and three hundred and then some years older than he is, it is in Keith’s best interest to continue to stifle his feelings for the sake of academia, Shiro’s tenure, and his own bleeding heart.

This pressure he’s put on himself is only exacerbated by Shiro’s increasing physical affection, the relentless teasing from his friends, and of course the mounting stress of his capstone thesis which is due by the end of the semester and the key indicator of whether or not he’ll be able to make it in his field. As much as all of these things portend calamity, Keith has withstood admittedly stormier times.

It’s just that this storm has a sloping jawline that could scratch sea glass and a pair of eyes deep and dark enough to lose the milky way in them. And Keith just has to pretend that it’s no big deal. 

*

A few nights after Shiro feeds on him, Keith falls down a rabbit-hole google-search of first hand encounters from humans who’d shared the experience of being fed on or sought to experience it. Unable to un-see the afterimage of Shiro licking his stained lips, he’d attempted to quench his curiosity by perusing the results. The most promising website is one discreetly titled _OCCULTkink_. Keith opens the link into an incognito window.

> ### FEEDING (vampiric) // accounts, first-hand experiences, advice
> 
> * * *
> 
> #####  _This thread refers to the experiences involving a vampire’s “limited feeding” on a live human specimen, meaning that “the bite” is not administered and the specimen retains both vitality and consciousness. Sometimes referred to as “the kiss” due to its brevity and sensation. Real accounts only, spammers and bots will be banned._
> 
> user: anonymous10982837469 [human]: I want to be fed on. Everyone says it’s horrible, but after seeing this thread, I’m really intrigued. Any recommendations on how to start? 👍

That particular comment definitely fits Keith’s experience. He expands the thread to read more closely.

> ↪user: anonymous10983500299 [human]: Ahhh I’m in the same boat as you! Bookmarking this thread 😍  
>  (36👍)
> 
> ↪user: anonymous10982304185 [human 💋]: I am regularly fed on by a patron who pays me for my service. We found each other through this website if you’re interested. Good luck ✌  
>  (97👍)
> 
> ↪user: anonymous10984403922 [human 💋]: My recommendation is to do it with someone you know, if possible. The partner absolutely matters. the closer you are the better it feels, as is my experience.  
>  (252👍)
> 
>     
> 
> ↪↪user: anonymous10986577782 [human 💋]: Tried to help a friend out with this and it really changed the dynamic of our relationship. It was good, but I’d say be careful if you do it with someone close to you.
> 
> ↪user: anonymous10971130294 [bitten🦷]: I have also had multiple partners and the best experience I’ve had is with my wife of six years now.  
>  (340👍)
> 
>     
> 
> ↪↪user: anonymous10982433876 [human]omfg this is so sweet
> 
>     
> 
> ↪↪user: anonymous10984403922 [human 💋]I see your tag has been changed to “bitten.” Congratulations!
> 
> ↪user: anonymous104490291483 [vampire🦇]: I don’t much recall what my own personal experiences were like before I was changed, but I do know that the partners I have had almost always enjoy themselves during our sessions. You’ll get a bit sleepy the first few times, but I’ve heard the state described as “dreamy,” “euphoric,” and “erotic,” too. Just make sure you’ve got a set of ground rules with each other and you’ll be fine.  
>  (95👍)

Keith spends a long time on the forum, never commenting but quietly hoping that reading enough of the comments will help him through osmosis, that ultimately he’ll figure out how to handle his own situation. When he climbs in bed to sleep, the blackout curtains drawn tight to shun the dawn and the pale glow of the waning moon, Keith drifts off to the idea and sensation of Shiro’s hands and fangs lightly tracing his veins.

*

The fascination hasn’t left him, but time has helped dull it to something Keith can ignore when he needs to. It isn’t the urgent desire to experience the bite again like during the first week after the fact, but he’s still interested in how different it would feel with Shiro’s mouth on his throat (or somewhere else). Keith counts himself as strong-willed, but not enough to avoid clicking the clickbait article titled _Top Ten Places on Your Body for a Sensual Vampire Kiss_. The unanimous winner is indeed the neck, followed by the inner thighs, just above the hip bones, then the the wrists and ankles.

Keith doesn’t know what to do with the information besides wallow in self-pity and embarrassing arousal. 

*

“Hey Keith,” Shiro starts one day during office hours. He’s leaning over his desk with his head in his hands, poring over the weekly reports from his Planetology course. Despite Keith’s repeated attempts to help, Shiro promises that he’s got it covered. The only TA stuff he’s really done today is grade the Astro 310 quizzes and alphabetize Shiro’s filing cabinet and he made quick work of both. When Keith looks over, Shiro’s face is paler than usual.

“What’s up?” He asks, chiding himself for his overly casual tone that he just can’t help but use with Shiro.

“How’s your research coming along?”

“Good. Mostly thanks to you,” Keith adds, not above flattering the hell out of Shiro. If it weren’t for him he’d be without a paddle.

“That’s all you,” Shiro deflects. “Do you have a buffer zone by any chance? Could you skip a day and get away with it?”

Keith’s stomach flutters with butterflies. “What do you mean?”

Shiro doesn’t shift in his seat like Keith, doesn’t hesitate or drop his gaze. “The blood moon is coming up and I thought it might be fun to hang out with the Astronomy club that night to check it out. Interested?”

 _It’s a date_ , Keith almost says. Fortunately, he still has some self-preservation instinct left in his body. “Sure. Sounds great. Thanks, Shiro,” he says with a smile. In turn, Shiro’s mouth pulls into a grin and he asks Keith if he can pose another question. Shiro is not only his favorite conversation partner, but he appreciates the help in procrastinating his thesis. He only vocalizes the latter thought.

“What made you choose astrophysics?” Shiro adjusts his posture to appear more attentive and less tired. He takes a deep breath that’s entirely habit-based, unnecessary for his kind. It’s a valiant effort to hide his bone-deep exhaustion, but his mask is thin enough for Keith to see right through.

Keith shuts his notebook, and decides he owes Shiro the real reason he chose space rather than the vague answer he gives most people. Digging deep into the wet sand of his mind, he unearths his truth: it is like something he can trust his favorite professor with.

“I mean,” he starts. “I think every kid shares that same depthless wonder when looking up to the night sky and really seeing stars for the first time, learning that they show up each clear night without fail. But there’s another reason, for me. It’s kind of silly,” he shrugs, second-guessing himself.

“I bet it isn’t,” Shiro says, a small smile tugging at his lips.

“You can laugh,” Keith says, to soften the blow for himself in case Shiro does. “But whenever I asked my dad about why I didn’t have a mom he would say that she was from space. That she came to visit, fell in love with him and had me, then had to go back and fight in some intergalactic war.” He pauses, examines the pinch of his heart when he talks about his parents. “So I sort of latched onto space, thinking I might go up there and meet my mom someday. Then my dad died and everyone pointed to the sky and said he’d gone to heaven. So I conflated space and heaven for a long time.” Keith stops and the pause drags out between him and Shiro. He could keep waiting for a response, but Shiro is examining him so closely it’s starting to feel intimate. “Ridiculous, right?”

“Not at all,” he says finally. “I think it’s beautiful.” 

Keith truly expects some sort of catch, pointed laughter, or jibe, so it’s a shock when Shiro warmly reassures him. “I’m serious, Keith. It sounds like you had a complicated adolescence and the only constant for you was a mystery and a few trillion balls of gas. It’s not easy to share stuff like that. Thank you for feeling comfortable enough to do it with me.”

“Thanks for listening,” Keith says, a glowing feeling spreading throughout his body like an inoculation. “What inspired you to ask?”

Shiro turns back to the stack of reports with renewed interest. “In this field, it’s easy to get people who are only in it for the prestige or the salary. But sometimes their passion seeps through and you remember why you started studying this stuff in the first place. That’s what it’s like to read your papers, Keith. I like how mettlesome you are.”

The compliment hits so hard that Keith lets out the breath he’d been holding, as if the words themselves clapped him on the back. A rush of pure distilled affection makes his face go pink as a valentine.

“Uhm, thanks.” Shiro punctuates his compliment with a hand on Keith’s shoulder, squeezing briefly. When he pulls away Keith’s instantly misses the weight.

“So, what got you into astrophysics? I don’t know if I remember you ever bringing it up in class.”

“I’m kind of like you,” Shiro says, finally pushing away the reports for later. “It was the stars for me, too. I’d always looked up to the sky for answers, especially right after I’d been changed. For a hundred years I was just a husk of my former self, trying to search for some deeper meaning in life. Everyone I had ever cherished was gone by that point, but thankfully I ended up falling into a circle of friends that spent their nights looking up at the sky instead of asleep like the rest of the world. You remember William Herschel from your undergrad studies, right?”

Keith nods. “He and his sister Caroline were some of the most notable astronomers of their time.”

“It was William who looked through his telescope and noted just how far the constellations really were. How it would take two million years for the light to get to us on earth. How the light of distant stars were just ghosts, almost occult in nature. He spoke those words that made me think, _finally_. Something like me.

“The Enlightenment was in full swing by that point, so I was finally able to get a real job despite my vampire status. The skeletons of systems that are still in operation today started around then, and at last I got my feet under me and regained control of my life. When I say ‘thank the stars,’ I can’t help but mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

Shiro’s eyes go dark and Keith can tell he’s listening to the thunderclap of his heart beat. “That’s incredible, Shiro.” Emotionally moved in a way that words can’t summarize, Keith goes with gratitude. “Thank you for telling me.”

Mirth colors Shiro’s face, almost fills in the blanks where his pallor suggests illness. Keith decides to bring it up. “By the way Shiro, are you feeling alright? Your color’s a little off.”

“I guess I do have a bit of a headache,” Shiro nods.

“Have you eaten lately?”

“...Now that you mention it, I haven’t,” Shiro says. Then a pregnant silence swells significantly, the unspoken loud between them.

“If you need I can—”

“Keith, I couldn’t possibly demand your largesse a second time—”

“—I mean I can leave while you—”

“Stop,” Shiro says. “We’re both floundering here. Let’s both say our peace.”

Keith sets Shiro straight: he doesn’t mind if Shiro eats in front of him or from him, or he’s happy to leave the room if he’s uncomfortable. Shiro counters with basically the same thing, except a little more adamant that feeding on Keith twice in one month wouldn’t be good for his health. Keith is a regular blood donor and it’s been three weeks, he’s fine—but he doesn’t press Shiro on the issue any further.

“I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he repeats, fingers steepled under his chin.

“You won’t,” Keith swears. “After that heart to heart? Eat, Shiro.”

Reaching for his mini fridge, Shiro acquiesces, and Keith gives him privacy by staring at his notes. Even though he’s too distracted to actually read them, it’s the thought that counts. All the while he can feel Shiro’s eyes on him, flicking back and forth surreptitiously. Keith wants to ask more questions, wants to challenge Shiro by asking him what tastes better: him or the bagged blood? How many others has he tasted? How does Keith compare? Would he “kiss” him somewhere different if he had the chance to?

He quiets the nagging voice, and starts putting in effort to read his notes.

“I’ve never met a ghost before,” he says later after ruminating on refracted sunbeams and neutrinos.

“Oh but you have,” Shiro insists. “They’re all around us.”

Jokingly, Keith admits he’s afraid to go outside if ghosts are all around waiting for him, so Shiro ends up walking him to the parking lot and goes so far as to give him a furtive but tight hug. “Thanks again for humoring me today. I got a lot of work done thanks to you.” Keith wouldn’t give himself the credit, but he does make sure to get home safely upon Shiro’s request, and to look up at the ghosts in the sky before the dawn swallows them whole until the next moonrise.

*

Shiro teaches classes on four different days, so Keith’s week at a glance looks like this: bringing Shiro tea lattes and trying not to brush hands for any longer than they need to when exchanging cups or papers to be graded (doable), attempting to keep their conversations work-related only (less doable), keep his asking Shiro for help to a minimum on his thesis research (much less doable, Shiro is his advisor), and maintaining a social life that doesn’t revolve around Shiro as well. That last one is mostly on his friends, but they love the drama and picking on Keith, so it never really plays out the way he’d like.

“Okay, it might sound like I’m jumping the gun here, but,” Hunk starts, his fingers busy twisting Keith’s hair into a french braid. “I think professor Shirogane is actually sort of—”

“Don’t say it,” Keith warns, his shoulders tensing up.

“—Into you. Sorry Keith, it’s the truth,” he says, pinching the braid so it won’t unravel. “Gunderson, how does this look?”

“Kinda busy, Hunk,” Pidge says, engrossed in a textbook. 

“But I need a second opinion,” Hunk complains. “And Keith can’t see his own head.”

“Looks good to me,” Lance offers from where he’s sprawled out on the floor of their study room. On his chest is a library book that he, to Keith’s chagrin as a former librarian, has dog-eared relentlessly, right next to a bag of extra hot Cheetos.

“If you could see yourself right now, you would understand how your judgement could be second guessed.”

“Look, I haven’t gotten any Cheeto dust on the pages, see!”

“Just tie it, Hunk. Set me free.”

“Anyway,” Hunk continues, following Keith’s orders. He claps Keith on the shoulder when he’s done, allowing him to return to perusing the eight scholarly articles that have had his brain running at full speed all night. “I think you should take this more seriously. I saw you walking with him to the cafeteria this evening, and he only had eyes for you. Seems like you two have really hit it off at this point. ”

“Hunk’s right,” Pidge says without looking up from their textbook. “And you should just admit it to yourself already, Keith: you’re the human protagonist of this occult romance novel. Time to ‘fess up and show him who’s a resilient member of the dominant species.”

“But he’s a _professor_.”

“Professors are people, too.”

“He’s just being nice,” Keith says in a disparaging tone that begs an end to the conversation. It stops nobody.

“He gave you his sweater, Keith,” Lance supplies, head conking against the ground with a lazy thud as he gives up on trying to read and snack simultaneously. “And you’re still wearing it. What is this, middle school?”

“And he gives you tons of advice for your capstone. Like more than is normal.” Pidge says, ultimately closing their book to be more physically present in the conversation. “Remember how you spent three hours in his office together the other day, even though Shiro didn’t have class or office hours that day? You stayed so late that it was practically dawn? And he gave you a ride to your apartment when your bike wouldn’t start? Oh my god, wait… did you let him come inside?”

“O-kay, Pidge’s nastiness aside I’d say there’s been considerable mutual interest by this point.” Hunk reiterates, using wide, sweeping gestures to help punctuate his point. 

Collectively, his friends have made valid arguments and Keith would be remiss to say otherwise. But for all the reasons it was difficult to make friends after spending so much of his youth on his own, it feels terrifying to let someone in beyond the boundaries of friendship, especially when that person is Shiro.

While his friends only mean well, what Hunk says next is what pushes everything past the point of no return.

“I mean, you two spend most of your free time together and call it work. It’s the kind of productivity that only well-synched adults are capable of. By now the next big step you’d have to take is him feeding on you or something.” Hunk says it with an easy, dismissive laugh, but Keith can’t help but go stock still at the comment. It’s been easy to hide since no one has brought up the subject until now, but being put on the spot makes the color drain from his face.

“Haha, yeah,” Keith agrees, laughing mechanically. It’s the most unnatural he’s ever sounded, and he was fifteen once.

The room is horrifyingly silent.

“That wasn’t the fervent rebuttal I was expecting,” Pidge says slowly. 

“Yeah, usually you get really embarrassed and upset when we say shit that like,” Lance agrees, sitting bolt upright and spilling his cheetos all over the floor. He is so captivated by Keith’s slip-up that he doesn’t even notice the loss of snack.

“Do you have something you’d like to share with the group, Keith?”

Under pressure, Keith is a lot like a star. If he’s going to go out, he’ll do it with flare.

“Shiro and I might have already crossed that bridge.”

Supernova.

“You WHAT?”

“When did this happen!”

“Keith! _Keith!_ ”

“Enough! It was an emergency, there were no other options. It was just how the played out and it was no big deal in the end.” Keith would rather be anywhere in the world than here, circumlocuting around his memory of Shiro’s lips on his inner wrist, delicate yet insatiable. Abandoning his chair, he tosses his backpack over his shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get bagels, I’m starving.”

“Keith,” Hunk grabs his hand before Keith can go anywhere. When he brings himself to meet Hunk’s eyes, they’re concerned and searching his own.

“Obviously you’re the master of deflection but this is sort of a big deal, Keith,” Pidge says, pointedly closing their laptop. The mocking humor is all but gone from their face, replaced instead by genuine worry. “You said it was an emergency, which means you probably didn’t have a lot of time to think it over in the moment. Are you okay? Do you need to talk about it?”

Even Lance is holding his tongue, patiently waiting to support a friend if he needs it. It’s frustrating, but Keith can’t deny that it’s touching, too.

“I’m okay,” he says. “I wanted it. Or, not wanted it, but I definitely didn’t _not_ want it. Does that make sense?” No one speaks. He has the floor.

“If I had to be upset about anything, it would be that I felt like I was the one pressuring Shiro. That and the fact it wasn’t scary or painful like everyone says it is. Not at all.” This earns some raised eyebrows but Lance catches on fast.

“I knew it,” he says, vindicated and triumphant.

“Lance,” Keith holds up his clenched fist in warning, his face burning.

Lance dares to taunt him with a small whisper anyway. “ _A slice_.”

Hunk has to hold Keith back so he doesn’t shove the entire collection of floor-cheetos down Lance’s throat. Significantly larger, he holds the advantage. “Alright, let’s go get those bagels you wanted, buddy. C’mon Lance, up you go.”

“I’d like to hear more about your experience, Keith,” Pidge says, collecting their items into their messenger bag. “If you want to share.”

“Not particularly, but I know it’s for science so I’ll spill as long as y’all keep it between us, okay?”

They get bagels. Keith’s friends learn a little more than they bargained for.

*

Later that week, Shiro sends Keith a text notifying him that he’ll be a little late for office hours. As far as Keith’s concerned, it’s not due to injury this time, although Shiro’s rare tardiness has him wondering what could be keeping him., Keith has a spare key to Shiro’s office and lets himself in on time anyway, placing Shiro’s tea latte on his desk and opening up his laptop to work on his thesis.

Just when he gets into a good workflow, a strong wind bellows against the side of Seminar Two making the windows quiver in their sills. It’s the eerie kind of sound that makes Keith clutch tighter to his mechanical pencil.

Tempted to put in headphones to shut out the noise of the wind, Keith hesitates in case it’d seem rude to Shiro. At that, he starts spiralling down a staircase of thoughts in his head; when Shiro was his age, electricity wasn’t even a thing. Now they have music streaming and heated toilet seats and Kraft american singles. Granted, Shiro is highly adapted and doesn’t necessarily fall behind with the times. He does however have trouble remembering that texting is a thing, so Keith is impressed that he remembered tonight.

Another wind gust yanks him out of his reverie. He ought to have kept a better eye on the weather; he might not be able to bike home. With a deep, capitulating sigh, he slumps in his chair hoping that Shiro will get here soon so he won’t feel so nervous. Wind shouldn’t bother him, but the Seminar Two building is notoriously quiet on Mondays and he feels the walls closing in around him.

Maybe he’ll go for a walk. Class isn’t for another two hours, and if Shiro shows up while he’s gone he’ll at least see his stuff and understand he stepped out. Briefly, he considers leaving a note but ultimately doesn’t bother.

Tugging on his coat over Shiro’s sweater, he steps outside onto the landing. It makes sense why the wind was so loud from inside: the trees are swaying and creaking with the sheer force of it. Not the best weather for a walk, but Keith could use the air—especially since being in Shiro’s office always reminds him of that first day when Shiro fed on him. The memory is branded into his mind anyway, and being in the place where it happens only makes it more visceral. 

Keith sighs, the image playing in his mind again. The fantasy of Shiro between his legs with dropped fangs is so searingly effective that he stops in his tracks before the wind reminds him he’ll freeze if he doesn’t keep moving.

His legs carry him to the bookstore where he meanders through the snack section, ending up with a sesame seed bar held together by local honey. It’s the cheapest protein bar available, its unpopularity likely due to the mere five grams of protein and/or fast approaching expiration date. But it works for Keith and the texture is surprisingly palatable. He leaves the bookstore feeling confident about the bargain.

Headed back to Sem Two, he distracts himself from the wind by picking out the seeds from his teeth and scrolling the group chat where Lance, Pidge, and Hunk are keeping him updated on their out-of-town field trip to the coast. While watching a video of Lance attempting to flip a capsized starfish between shrill screams, his phone pings with a notification. Assuming it’s Shiro asking where he is, Keith clicks to expand it.

But it’s not from Shiro. Instead, it’s a campus-wide emergency message.

_Campus is to be immediately closed due to a direct threat to students and faculty from an anonymous caller. Classes are cancelled. Blood moon festivities are also cancelled. Please stay in your dormitories if you have not yet left. If you are on campus in the Coliseum, Library, Student Affairs, or Seminar buildings, please call the police and/or student resources for an escort off of campus. Thank you for your cooperation._

Several alarms go off in Keith’s head. The first alarm has him looking up and wondering how he’d missed the wine-stained edges of the moon; he can forgive his error when he realizes a thick layer of clouds are hanging low and blotting out any and all night lights. Next, he tries to retrace his steps to figure out how he could possibly have forgotten that Shiro had more or less asked him on a date, planned for today. Last, he considers the wording of the emergency message.

He’s caught in a gridlock of options. Keith could run back to Seminar Two and wait for Shiro to get here so they can navigate the terms of the date seeing as it has been cancelled by violence and forgotten entirely by his stressed TA, or come to terms that Shiro had gotten the notification and was staying off campus until further notice. Or he could take initiative by driving himself home, or call the campus police as instructed.

For all the quick-thinking he’s ever done on his feet, Keith is at a total loss tonight. He wants to blame the wind and other faultless things, or to blame himself, or the whole world. At this point, he knows he just has to make a decision and go with it. 

So he starts heading back to Sem Two, to Shiro’s office. He needs to get his things or at the very least his keys, since all he has on him are the clothes on his back, his phone, and change from the five dollar bill he’d used to buy the protein bar. At first he’s only walking, but soon the hair on the back of his neck starts to rise and he can’t help but quicken his pace. The group chat starts sending messages asking if he’s somewhere safe, but Keith leaves his friends on read while trying to call Shiro.

He calls twice, but the dial tone blares like a siren until the pre-recorded Shiro cordially invites him to leave a message both times.

“Shiro, pick up, come on,” Keith murmurs to himself. He’s almost at Sem Two and refuses to run and provoke suspicion. But his cautious measures only get him so far.

“In a hurry?” A voice asks from behind him. Keith considers ignoring them, but something tells him this isn’t the time to be evasive. Hoping it’s just a snarky officer who can’t read the room, Keith slowly turns on his heel.

Instead of the police, Keith comes face to face with a man considerably taller and older than him, wearing a pilled, woolen jacket that seems to do little against the howling wind.

“Just trying to get back to class,” Keith says, a test.

“So diligent. Why not skip for today?” The man tests back, tilting his head in filthy invitation like a self-proclaimed pick-up artist. He takes a few steps forward while he talks, and Keith can see runic tattoos on his knuckles, a long silver scar that starts at his temple, gets caught around his eye, and disappears down the neckline of his coat.

“Sorry, gotta have good attendance if I want to keep my scholarship,” Keith frowns, taking a step backward to try and re-establish the distance between him and the stranger. But something firm behind him halts his movement: it’s another man, equally ragged-looking as the first. He bears the same tattoos on his icy hands, which have wrongfully claimed a place on Keith’s shoulders, their pressure increasing slightly as Keith’s frown grows deeper.

“Can I help you? I really need to get back to class,” Keith urges, unable to suppress the fight in him after all, even in the face of immediate, unknown danger.

“It’s so nice to see kids with their priorities straight,” the second man says, his skin so thin and pale he looks more like a skeleton draped with egg noodles than a person. “But I heard classes were cancelled. Why’s that?”

“News to me,” Keith fibs, trying to buy time to figure out how he’s going to get himself out of this situation. “Let go.”

“You’ve got quite a mouth,” the first man remarks as the second man pinches Keith’s face with his cold, bony fingers, tilting it upward and exposing his neck. “Take a bite of him, Dak.”

“Shutting him up will be a great way to kick off the festivities tonight,” Dak says, smiling a jagged, jaundiced smile and tracing Keith’s collarbone with his other hand. “Ever been bitten by a werewolf?”

Keith’s stomach drops. He says nothing.

“The descendants of the Vargr will feast on your soul tonight. Sen over here will cast a spell so you can join us in your next life.”

Keith isn’t prepared to die or become a murderer in the service of some mythological cult, but despite his flailing the grip on his face grows more lethal, and he can feel the stranger’s acrid breath on his neck grow hotter, foreshadowing little hope for escape. Considering another method to slip out from his hold, he tries to relax and become dead weight, but that doesn’t seem to work either. Throat burning and mouth dry, all he can do is call out for help.

“Go ahead, scream,” Sen encourages. “No one is coming to—”

Sen’s voice cuts out with a grunt, like the words and air were stolen from him. Dak’s grip on him loosens fractionally as he stops in his ministrations to see what happened. It’s enough of an opening for Keith to drop down and out from his grip. He gets a searing slice down one cheek with the deepest part of the cut just above his jawline, but it’s a small price to pay for the satisfaction he gets from sweeping a leg under the man and sending him to the ground.

Staggering to his feet, Keith chokes back the bile and panic rising in his throat. Hands shaking, he winds up a punch to throw at Dak, but a gentle voice stops him.

“Keith,” someone says from where Sen had been. Turning slowly in case the voice is some kind of trap or spell, he’s relieved to find the familiar face of none but Shiro, splitting his attention between Keith’s eyes and the wound on his cheek with concern etched between his brows. “Are you okay?”

Keith tries to say yes but nothing comes out. He whips his head back toward Dak who is recovering from the fall and hissing in frustration. Without address, Shiro surges forward and has Dak’s neck in one large hand, arm flexing as he increases the pressure. With his other hand, he pulls out his cell phone and calls campus police, alerting them to their location and apprehension while Keith looks on in awe, trying to gather himself under the crimson glow of the moon which has just revealed itself from its cloudy shroud.

*

“I _told_ you the Faculty Watch Program was a good idea,” an officer named Iverson says in a needling tone to Chief Sanda. “Thank you for responding so quickly, Professor Shirogane.” Shiro shakes their hands and notes that he’s just happy to have helped. 

The police tell Keith it’s okay if he wants to take the night off and come in the next day for a statement. It’s an ongoing case, apparently, and while as many testimonies as possible are imperative, Keith’s well-being takes precedence.

“Where will you feel safest right now?” Shiro asks him as they head back toward the main square. “Home? My office? Back in the police building?”

“Let’s start with your office,” Keith says. “My stuff is there.” Shiro hovers a little too closely. Keith tries to appreciate it knowing he means well, but it’s almost overwhelming at the moment.

“I can walk, I’m fine, it’s okay.”

But the wind hasn’t let up at all and Keith’s adrenaline crash isn’t keeping him insulated well and he is anything but fine. Shiro notices. He doesn’t say anything until they’re halfway across the square.

“Keith, I’m sorry to keep bothering you—I notice you look a little underdressed for the weather and I was wondering if I could put my arm around you? My body heat isn’t much compared to yours but maybe just the sensation could help—”

It’s such a formal, awkward way of asking that it breaks down the walls of Keith’s fear of asking Shiro for more help when he’s already given him so much. Without saying anything, he lines up his footsteps with Shiro, joining him at his side until their bodies are flush. Shiro smiles, wraps an arm around his shoulders. Either Shiro has severely undersold himself or Keith is in the early stages of hypothermia. The warmth emanates from him like music from a stereo. Leaning into it is easy, but also comes with a sense of finality or conviction. It’s too simple, so why has Keith continued to make things so complicated between him and Shiro in his head?

They arrive safely at Sem Two and Keith is thinking of all the ways he can maintain this proximity between him and Shiro, even if it takes all the blood and life in his body. It won’t, considering Shiro’s disposition, which is why he keeps getting stuck on what to say. Inside the office the lamp is still glowing orange and Keith’s laptop is fully charged. Shiro pulls out the chair for him and he gratefully takes a seat.

A deep, shuddering sigh racks his torso like the last of his fear is leaving his body. Shiro’s presence is soothing like a smooth stone or babbling brook. Beside him, Shiro unearths the first aid kit from his desk, pulling out band-aids and antibiotic ointment. The dispatch officer at the police building had given him a few paper towels and disinfectant to wipe up his face, but he can still feel the slowing spill of blood. 

“How’s your face?”

“You tell me,” Keith says.

“Beautiful, but only you can tell me how it feels, which is what I was asking.”

“Oh,” Keith says dumbly. His blush makes his injury sting. “You should have clarified.”

“Maybe,” Shiro muses, his smile a beacon. “How is it? Be honest, yeah?”

“It hurts,” Keith admits, smiling back. The movement only causes him more discomfort. “Stings like a bitch.”

Eyebrows knitted in concern, Shiro drums his fingers on the pale cypress of his desk. The percussive sound is almost melodic, and for a second Keith’s heartbeat matches the rhythm. Pulling open his desk drawer, Shiro gets to work on mending Keith’s face, sanitizing the area and affixing a bandage.

“Hurts,” Keith repeats, despite Shiro’s gentle touch. “Isn’t there some way you can distract me?”

“Is there some way you want me to distract you, Keith?” Shiro asks, the innuendo heavy on his lips.

“How about you explain the bouquet of flowers on your desk?”

A bundle of pink camellia flowers sits primly on the cypress, shrouded in cellophane, the stems tied with jute, and they’d been there from the moment they walked in. While Shiro had been caught up in his distress regarding Keith’s well-being, the shocking pink had not gone unnoticed by his TA. At the call-out, Shiro goes quiet and Keith fears he’s made a crucial misstep. Leaning into his otherwise deft ability to read the room, he worries that right now is exactly when those skills have decided to schism from him.

Shiro places boths hands on Keith’s shoulders with a firmness so professional it’s heartbreaking. But then his demeanor shifts, his hands tracing down Keith’s arms until their hands are anchored in the others’.

“Keith,” he starts. “I, uhm. Don’t know how to say this. I’ve been agonizing over it for weeks and ultimately decided that maybe the old-fashioned way was the best after all, but right when we were supposed to have our night out together the campus police sent out the Faculty Watch notification and then you were injured and... God why is this so difficult?” Keith, on the edge of his seat, feels the dangerous pull on his lips in anticipation of what Shiro is going to say. “The flowers are for you, Keith.”

“Because you like me?” Keith doesn’t really intend to tease Shiro in this pivotal moment, but his nervousness manifests as such without his consent.

“Because,” Shiro laughs, almost to himself. “I _really_ like you.”

“I really like you, too, Shiro,” Keith exhales. “Really a lot. So much. God I have two degrees and I can’t say it either.”

“I have eight, welcome to my life,” he counters, reminding both of them of the age difference. They’re both painfully aware of it, yet in the heat of requited affection it doesn’t seem to matter like it did before. Ultimately, they end up lost in each other’s eyes, unable to wipe the smiles from their faces. That is, until Keith remembers how much his face hurts.

“Sorry,” he says. “I’m so happy, and also in pain.”

“I can,” Shiro swallows. “Fix that. Only if you want it, though.”

“Shiro,” Keith breathes, guiding Shiro’s hand to his lips, kissing his knuckles. “You could step on me and I’d thank you.”

Shiro’s face colors a brilliant scarlet and Keith feels like he’s climbed a mountain in a minute. “We can, uh, save that for another time, then,” he clears his throat, turning the tables on a now crimson Keith.

He scoots his chair in closer until the edge of it bumps Keith’s.

“Can I touch you?” Shiro asks.

“Yes,” Keith stutters as Shiro’s hands slide down to his lower back. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” Shiro steadies his breath at Keith’s touch, the sudden contact shocking him as he traces the knobs of his spine over his clothes. “Okay,” he pauses. “If I bite you,” he explains, and Keith’s stomach flips in arousal. “The sensation will relieve your pain for the most part. And it won’t change you, I promise. Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“Shiro, please,” Keith says, fisting his hands in the fabric of Shiro’s shirt, in disbelief that this is his reality. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Shiro replies, nodding and also trying to grasp that this is actually happening. “Is there a specific place you want me to…?”

Keith appreciates the freedom of choice Shiro is giving him, thinks briefly of his research and settles in his resolve.

“Here,” he asks, baring his neck. “Is that okay?”

Shiro leans forward into Keith’s space, larger than him in every sense and looming like a storm cloud. Keith’s mouth opens slightly, thirsty for the rain. “Yes,” Shiro says, tracing his nose along the smooth skin and soft line of Keith’s neck, inhaling quietly. Suddenly, Keith can feel Shiro’s breath on his skin, then the needling pierce of his fangs, and then all he feels is high, high, high.

It’s the crest of a roller coaster as it plummets back down the tracks from its pinnacle, feeling the crash of a cool ocean wave against sun-warmed legs, hearing the most beautiful note in a song. Keith feels his skin pimple with goosebumps, a foreign shock of animalistic arousal blooming deep in his gut. Somehow, his hands have traveled underneath Shiro’s shirt and the skin to skin shakes his core. 

“Shiro, _haah_ ,” Keith shudders when his vision starts to fade to white. “I’m—”

And like before, Shiro pulls away before anything untoward can happen.

It’s impossible to know how much time has passed, but somewhere along the line Shiro had fisted a hand in Keith’s hair, holding him in place. Allowing himself to slowly come out of his bliss, Keith lets the soothing press of Shiro’s tongue on his neck lull him in and out of a sleepy state.

“It is honestly,” Keith catches his breath. “Out of this world how good that feels.”

“The feeling is mutual,” Shiro pants, in a similar state. “This is going to sound really bad,” he shakes his head. “But you taste incredible, Keith.”

“I bet you say that to all the young students you feed on,” Keith dismisses.

“You’re the only one, so not quite. Although your modesty is more or less becoming.”

“More or less?”

“I like it when your confidence shines through,” Shiro says, stroking a hair from Keith’s forehead where a light layer of sweat has formed. “It’s deserved.”

“Says the godlike creature holding me in his arms,” Keith snorts.

“You have got to stop making the gap between us bigger with this language.”

“Maybe I like it bigger.”

Shiro silences Keith with a kiss.

“You deserved that, too,” Shiro tells him with a smug grin and sparkling eyes. Attempting to adjust their positions to establish a distance he anticipates Keith might need, Keith counters by hopping onto his lap instead and giving him what he deserved. Their kisses push and pull like waves, each of them taking control of them as they give to and take from the other. 

Relishing in the sensation of Shiro’s pliant lips against his own, Keith sighs and the fire in his stomach makes him instinctively grind against Shiro. He tries to say sorry but Shiro swallows the apology with a growl.

“We can take it slow until you feel better,” Shiro says, bringing them to a good stopping point.

“I already feel significantly better,” Keith tells him, his voice dropping in volume. “Are you okay?”

“More than okay,” Shiro promises, eyebrows knitting together in a hopeful question. “Are we really doing this? I’m in if you are.”

“I’m in. We’ve been so patient with each other,” Keith says. “I’m not giving it up anytime soon.”

*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here’s a little extra, calling it a bonus in case i don’t end up continuing this story!!
> 
> ***
> 
> Much later when Shiro asks why Keith chose his neck over any other less conspicuous place, Keith tells him that he pored over entire forums dedicated to this sort of thing, and he’d been dying to know how the rumors compared to reality.
> 
> “Glad to know I wasn’t the only one doing research,” Shiro laughs.
> 
> “What do you mean?” A wave of confusion swept over Keith. Shiro used to be human and had been alive for hundreds of years, didn’t he know everything there was to know about humans?
> 
> “Well, you’re not exactly just human, right?” Shiro asks with a playfully raised eyebrow. “I wanted to make sure I was covering my bases and that you weren’t allergic to certain flowers and stuff.”
> 
> Keith was still stuck at the beginning of Shiro’s statement. “I’m sorry, Shiro, we need to rewind. What do you mean ‘not exactly just human’?”
> 
> *


End file.
